For Yet Another Time
by Lira is a Girl's Name
Summary: Veser may be cocksure and may know what he wants, and he may be perfectly willing to take it. But he might not be honest. He might be willing to place faith in unstable forces to ensure he isn't hurt and he gets his way. Veser/Ples.


AN: This story was actually written for the livejournal Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name kink meme. The prompt was "_Veser/Ples: So, I know they haven't even interacted in the comic yet, but Lint on /coq/ got me hooked on this pairing and I would love to see some Veser on top. Perhaps pulling a little inspiration from Torchwood and throw in a stopwatch?" _The actual product is a bit different from what the Torchwood part was meant to suggest, but I received a comment from an anon who was probably the original poster, and they liked it. So I guess it can't be too bad?

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FOR YET ANOTHER TIME

-by: Lira-

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Veser knew which bar Ples would be in that night, knew it from doing this same thing so many times before. Veser knew that he never tried this on the nights when Ples stayed home and drank alone, because for some reason a public place felt safer. In public he could swagger around and let it all hang out, push the envelope and pick fights if he wanted. He could lie if he wanted.

Ples was seated at the bar with several empty glasses in front of him. Only an hour till midnight and already there was weighty evidence that it was time to let things roll. Veser took Ples by the shoulder and turned him around, surprised by how easily the older man moved to his touch despite this being such a familiar action. The look on Ples' face was a calm one during the brief moment their eyes met, the smolder of the alcohol there a familiar look. Reassuring. It was reassuring to Veser's nerves and he leaned forward and kissed the man.

This part was always the hardest, the few seconds during which Ples didn't do anything and Veser kept going, always thinking it would be the time that Ples did not kiss back. Veser could taste Ples' drink on his lips, thinking this night it was rum or maybe tequila, could appreciate the dry press of their mouths together before anything else happened. He could feel the heavy weight in his own front pants pocket, the relic that always reminded him of Ples.

Ples shifted on the bar stool and came forward, finally reciprocating, to which Veser's only response was to nudge the man back. Each time Veser could endure less. When he'd first heard the name Ples Tibenoch, the connection to Lee's death had made him boil over and see red. Veser tracked the man down himself and was certain he would kill the guy, just wring his neck with his bare hands until the life dripped out of him like succulent juices. Veser was unable to do it. There was something inside of Ples that Veser could not end.

At first Veser had been unable to hear it. Ples' ticking was such a faint, steady sound that it lurked in the background of Veser's mind, static on a mis-tuned radio. Now Veser could hear it rumbling in his ears like thunder, the sound a warning for what was yet to come. Ples never acknowledged the ticking to Veser, and Veser was uncertain if it came from the man himself or from some machine concealed on his person. Veser had tried to find the machine, but with no luck.

Veser wondered if Ples just could not hear it himself.

Veser slid up into Ples' lap as they kissed, his manner frantic and impatient as he crushed Ples' mouth with his own. More than once he'd bitten Ples just a little bit too hard, and yet he was unable to stop doing it even as it was happening the next time. The ticking sound at that point was deafening, but beneath it Veser could just detect the low, even sound of the pocket watch he was hiding. He was always surprised when Ples gave no indication of knowing it was there. Veser was baffled that its existence remained a secret.

After first meeting Ples, Veser had slowly developed a fondness for the older gentleman. Ples was not at all the sort of guy Veser usually liked, and he certainly didn't remind Veser of Lee. Veser just sort of felt as if he had to protect Ples. It was thoughts like that which allowed Veser to nick the pocket watch off of Hanna the one time he was at Hanna's apartment. Its slow, even ticking had reminded him of Ples, and Veser had just had to have that watch. He was sure Hanna would hardly miss it.

Veser couldn't stand it any more. It was like Ples' ticking was burrowing into his body through his eardrums, and after something else had burrowed into him so many times it was more than Veser could bear. He broke off the kiss and slid off the bar stool, grabbing Ples by the arm because he was not going to wait. Veser didn't know how they were getting away with not talking, but this time he was happy to put off that same tired conversation for yet another time. Without a word, he led the older man to the back of the bar.

The inside of the bathroom was familiar, porcelain sinks meticulously cleaned even as the walls were streaked with grime. Veser knew the bathroom was disgusting but he could not afford to get Ples somewhere nicer. For the two of them, this setting was necessary. Veser didn't expect anything fancy and quite frankly was happier this way.

Veser sealed his mouth back to Ples' as he fumbled with the older man's clothes, finding the front of Ples' pants a struggle. He managed to get his hand inside, questing and groping and stroking. It always took a little effort to get Ples interested, but Veser was man enough for the job and hell if he wasn't persistent. He kissed Ples roughly as he jerked the man to hardness.

But this time, this time was going to be Veser's turn.

Veser's cock was already hard from anticipation, urging him to get Ples' pants down, get his own cock out, withdraw condom and lube from a different pocket than the one the watch was in. Ples just couldn't see the watch, never mind that now its ticking was almost as distinct as Ples' own. Even more important was the matter of Ples himself, the matter of pressing him harder against the wall, pressing Veser's slick fingers back between Ples' legs. It was important that Veser do it right, just like he knew it was important that he protect Ples and not the other way around.

The motion was not familiar to Veser, who would pretend at much more experience than he should rightfully boast. Ples' mouth moved sharply against Veser's own as Veser's fingers twitched and reached inside, and Veser couldn't stop, whether or not it hurt or was feeling good. He wanted to do right but he also just wanted to go, and when he took his hand back Ples was producing the faintest tremors and Veser was so hard it hurt.

He couldn't put it in words and tell Ples why this was important to him.

The foil of the condom packet ripped so easily, this proving important as well even though Veser knew with certainty that he was clean and even though Ples was never given a chance to insist that things be kept safe. Veser had to be extra careful as he rolled it on, the ticking in his ears making him clumsy and impatient. He had stopped kissing to put it on, and when he looked back to Ples he filled up with nerves. The smolder was still there and Ples was still hard, like nothing could ever be wrong.

Veser had to believe it, had to believe that fuck yeah he was wanted. He moved forward, up on his toes a little, pressing in. He watched Ples' face the whole time, willing Ples to understand with each thrust that Veser was in charge and that things could be good. Veser knew the worth of people, under everything. Some things were more important than getting the last word. Things like encompassing heat, like the minute changes of Ples' expression that Veser wasn't any good at reading, but that he could guess at. The quick rhythm he had started, and the way Ples' hips rolled forward to meet him as if this was old and familiar.

Ples didn't seem to mind that Veser could not coordinate a hand on Ples' cock and the combined motion of their hips simultaneously. He seemed to understand that the perfect quiet was necessary for Veser, so that he could hear the small sounds of their bodies combined with the ticking that was ever-present. He seemed content with Veser's endurance, even though Veser felt he was done all too quick. He remained there with Veser, the sounds he made so ridiculously small as Veser jerked him to completion.

Veser found himself thinking of the strange facial contortions he surely made after watching Ples' look of calm rapture as his orgasm hit. He found himself helping Ples clean up by unspoken agreement, and found himself urging Ples back into the bar with the assurance that he would be there momentarily.

It was almost the witching hour.

Veser reached into his pocket and slid free the heavy brass pocket watch. The time read two minutes to twelve, assuring Veser that he was perfectly on time. He had wound the watch just before entering the bar, just before finding Ples and going through the grand dance. Even with this, it had taken Veser numerous nights to get this far.

As Veser watched the minute hand graze twelve, it smoothly reversed direction, back-wheeling gracefully through all of the minutes Veser had spent with Ples. It struck twelve again and stuck there, the time on the watch reading eleven exactly.

When Veser moved back into the bar, he could see Ples finishing the drink he'd had before Veser came in. So many days of this. So many kisses and touches as Veser brought them towards what he wanted. And each time it was erased from Ples' memory, from the memory of anyone in the vicinity, by Veser's own consent. Now that he'd gotten this far and done this much he wanted it to be real, but it was too late. The clock had already wound back. He would have to start over fresh, as if none of it had ever happened.

Veser moved to sit at the bar beside Ples, joking that the man should buy him a beer. Ples politely declined with mention of Veser's underage status, and Veser settled down to the bait-and-switch of verbal sparring.

The problem was, if Veser allowed Ples to remember things past the time of the action, Ples would have the opportunity to regret it in the morning.


End file.
